Three Kinds of Hell
by Meya Orion
Summary: HellboyHellsingVan Helsing crossover. The Antichrist, A vampire, and a vampire hunter walk into a bar...there are jokes that begin like this, but when Hellboy, Gabriel Van Helsing, and Alucard meet in Dublin, what happens next is anything but trivial.
1. Default Chapter

This is a collaborated effort between my boyfriend and me. Two thirds of this was my original idea; the rest came from him. I hope that we can pull this off.  
  
For all the international flights I've been on, I never have liked flying. A stiff drink helps, and a pack of gum from the airport. That all helps, but there's always the feeling of twenty thousand feet between you and the ground. Of all the things to be worried about, you'd think that would be the least of my concerns. Go figure.  
  
Hellboy sighed and tinkled the ice in his near empty glass in regret. One of the things that he hated about flying, besides the height above the ground, was the limited refills on the good drinks. He had about only two refills and now the stewardess wouldn't fill whiskey on the rocks. He had tried using the call button to get the attention of one of them; but they pointedly ignored him.  
  
Hellboy soon acknowledged that they were put off somehow by his rugged good looks. But, what was not attractive about him? Could it be the blood red skin, or the stunted horns on his head? The slightly pointed ears, the cloven hooves maybe? Or his tail or maybe his huge stone that passed for his right hand. Whatever the reason, everyone either stared at him openly or made it a point to pretend that he didn't exist.  
  
And he was forced to use that stone hand as the plane lurched and caused the cabin to shudder sideways severely. Hellboy clenched his teeth and wrinkled his nose as some of his fellow passengers last whatever was in their stomachs and made use of the complimentary airbags. Those who had too much to drink soon followed suit. Why do they call them 'airbags' in the first place?  
  
"Attention, passengers. This is your captain speaking. We are experiencing some violent turbulence..."  
  
No duh, Hellboy thought.  
  
"And I have been told that a terrible storm is approaching along our vector. I'm afraid that we'll have to make an emergency stopover in Ireland. From there you'll have to make other arrangements to reach your final destination."  
  
Damn, this will cut into my tanning time.  
  
"We apologize for the inconvenience and hope that you'll use AirKenya again in the near future." There was a click as the pilot turned off the mike that he was using.  
  
Yeah right. He grimaced and downed the rest of his drink. Hellboy had a feeling that he would need whatever alcohol he could get for the next few hours.  
  
"Attention everyone. Due to the ferocity of the oncoming storm, all flights have been delayed indefinitely. Thank you."  
  
The sounds of dismay echoed through the airport. At the bar, one man just shook his head and turned back to his drink. The bartender eyed him carefully, counting the empty shot glasses in front of him. One, two, three, four...and yet the man looked up and said without a hint of slurring to his voice, "Another scotch."  
  
He wore jeans, a dark shirt, and a duster, and none looked to be in the best shape. His face was scruffy, in dire need of a razor and maybe a bar of soap. But the euros kept coming, and as long as the man could hold himself up and pay his tab, he wasn't one to argue. Besides, whether or not he was holding his liquor, he definitely was not sitting there and bemoaning his troubles, something the man had had to deal with far too often in his line of work. And for money and a bit of blessed silence, the scotch kept pouring.  
  
There was an increase in footsteps as apparently another plane had been forced to land due to the horrible weather conditions outside. The bartender smiled slightly underneath his mustache and readied several glasses for potential customers. Although he knew that they would come in here lamenting and complaining about the unnecessary layover and how they would have to rearrange everything to accommodate the new circumstances; he would gladly welcome the extra profit for the day. Things had been a bit slow actually, what with the damn weather and all.  
  
Amidst the normal sounds of feet and squeaky wheels, there was a distinctive tread that almost made him drop the shot glass that he was wiping. Sweet Titania, not him. Of all the airport bars in all the bloody world, that beast was going to walk into his!  
  
"Hey, barkeep! Set me up with some Guinness; I need it," said the last voice that the bartender wanted to hear. Fortunately, he apparently didn't recognize what the bartender really was. That was a small relief. Now all he had to do was keep up the glamour...  
  
His scotch drinker had the glass at his lips but at the sound of the beast's voice, the glass stopped and was lowered back onto the bar. The man turned and took a good look at the newcomer.  
  
"It was a vodka in '63," he said. "in the Schwartzwald." Most of the crowd didn't blink, too immersed in their own woes to pay attention to the scruffy man's words, or the fact that he couldn't have been more than thirty, perhaps thirty-five under the stubble.  
  
Hellboy paused. The Guinness could wait. "I've had a little trouble with Russia lately." He said. He turned, and raised his pint slightly with a smirk. "Long time no see."  
  
"Tell me about it." He raised his own glass. "Hellboy."  
  
"Van Helsing."  
  
The bartender coughed, and decided to focus on the other customers. His instinct for survival told him that the best chances of surviving the rest of the day would be to leave those two alone unless either of them wanted another drink. And the bartender would gladly let both of them drink for free if they didn't focus on him too closely.  
  
Hellboy sat down next to Van Helsing and the first smile in months on his face. "What are you doing here? Last I heard about you, you were in somewhere in Scandinavia. Something about trolls asking for a 'toll' from travelers?"  
  
Van Helsing chuckled and showed a bandaged hand. "We were able to 'discuss' our differences and he was finally able to see my side of things. And he won't be asking for anymore tolls."  
  
"Put him out of business I take it?"  
  
"Damn straight. And what about you? I heard that there was some trouble in the Alps not too long ago. Had anything to do with that?"  
  
Hellboy nodded, "Nazis, demons, the usual for me. Decided that I needed a vacation."  
  
Van Helsing frowned and gave Hellboy a long look. "Vacation? I didn't realize that the B.P.R.D. gave vacations..." He quieted down and looked harder. "You are still with the B.P.R.D. right?"  
  
Hellboy frowned himself; it made his face look like it was etched from stone. "I just needed a break, that's all. There are some things that a fella can't take from his bosses before snapping."  
  
Van Helsing nodded. He knew exactly what his old friend was talking about. A century had almost passed since that incident, but he had never allowed himself to forget it.  
  
"Besides," Hellboy mused, "they've still got Abe and Liz and Roger—"  
  
"Roger?"  
  
"Oh, yeah," said Hellboy, "you haven't me him. He's new. Homunculus. Good guy."  
  
"Ah."  
  
"Yeah. And there's some new guy on the way, so I figure they've got their bases covered." He shrugged, and took a swig of his beer. "So I gave 'em my two hours notice, came back o the states to get my stuff, and here I am."  
  
"Why did you choose to come to Ireland?"  
  
"I didn't. I wanted to go to Africa. Been there before. Lovely country; thought that I could have a relaxing time there. But my plane got caught in that damn storm outside and we're forced to land here. Now I have to find something to do until I can find another flight to Kenya. So, what are you doing here, Van Helsing?"  
  
"Faerie troubles." Said the more normal looking of the two. "Some rich family's lost their little boy, and they turned to a private monster-hunter instead of the B.P.R.D. Sometimes people are funny like that. But it keeps me paid."  
  
"Need any help with it? I've had dealings with the Fair Folk before."  
  
Van Helsing smiled and raised his glass. "That would be greatly appreciated, Hellboy. I've never had to deal with those creatures before...At least that I can remember."  
  
"Hell, it'll give me something to do. Let me pay the tab and let's get started." They finished their drinks and stood. Hellboy rifled through his pockets as the bartender drew near. He pulled out one bill, another. A golden cross came next, followed by two exorcism strips. A handful of silver caltrops piled on top of these. Hellboy was glad he had put those in his right pocket; they would have cut into his hand like nails into a tire.  
  
On top of the pile came an iron horseshoe, and the bartender jumped back with a gasp that didn't fit his six-and-a-half foot frame. Hellboy paused, and reached for the ingot, sliding it toward the bartender, who in turn stepped backward, until he threatened to knock a bottle of gin over. Hellboy quirked an eyebrow, and pocketed the horseshoe again.  
  
The bartender grimaced. He knew. And he knew he knew. And he knew he knew he knew. So rather than lie, or do something a bit more obvious, he just grimaced. "All right, beastie." He said. "What do you want?"  
  
"See, Gabe?" Said Hellboy as he turned to his companion. "There's your first lesson: you never know where the little guys are." He turned back to the bartender. "So," he said with a smile, "hear anything through the fair folk grapevine?"  
  
The other patrons didn't seem to notice the conversation. A few noticed their drinks were empty, tapping the hollow glasses on the bar or drumming their fingers as a subtle hint. But the big red man seemed to be holding his attention. Bloody celebrities. They always got the attention and service of the help.  
  
The bartender fidgeted for a moment before answering. He kept his face down; at the moment he couldn't face the other...man in the eye. "I have heard something...but ya canna tell the others that it was me that told ya." He said, the knowledge of the iron in the pocket only marginally better than the brandishing of it moments earlier.  
  
"Ye're in the right city." He said. "An' the child an' his keepers'll be at the crossroads."  
  
"Which one?"  
  
"Any one, ye fools!" He hissed. "We're creatures of tradition, and any place that is neither one nor another calls to us. Go to any place where one road meets another, seeking what you do, an' ye'll find 'em. Though that's only half the doing, I think you should tell yer friend."  
  
"I know." Said Hellboy. "I've done this before." He leaned closer to the bartender and his face grew quite fierce. "You people better not give him the same shit that you gave me last time. Or else...well, I'll leave that to your imagination."  
  
The bartender paled and nodded quickly. "I'll hope fer that." He said. "But this is not my crime, and you're as good threatenin' me as you are the man next to you."  
  
"Too bad for you." He said. "I've had a really bad week, and just you being here says something about you." With that, he turned and walked toward the crowd, his hooves echoing on the wood paneling of the floor. He stopped and turned around just as the bartender had begun to breathe again. "Sorry." He said. "Forgot some stuff." He picked up the talismans, the caltrops, and finally the money before vanishing without a word.  
  
The bartender gritted his teeth, and almost—almost—let his glamour slip. Van Helsing shook his head, producing a small handful of bills. "This should cover his pint." He said. "And the information." And with that, he grabbed a short hat with a wide brim, and turned to leave in turn.  
  
"So," he asked when he caught up to Hellboy, "what did you mean about him just being there?"  
  
Hellboy twisted his mouth as if tasting something sour. "You don't find the good folk just sitting around like normal people, most of the time." He said. "He's a changeling. Either his parents were afraid of him, or he was smarter than most and kept his mouth shut. Either way, he's here, and some regular kid's grown up in the faerie lands."  
  
"Poor kid."  
  
"Actually, they tend to be pretty good to the kids." Hellboy admitted. "Treat 'em like their own. Doesn't mean I have to like it."  
  
"That's the truth. We all have to bear with things that we do not like. I've been on this earth longer than you; I know what I'm talking about."  
  
"Is that why you left the Vatican?"  
  
"Part of the reason," Van Helsing said under his breath. Hellboy was content to leave it at that...for the moment.  
  
"Now let's go get that kid." 


	2. So begins an Ill Wind

The winds were so strong that it was to Hellboy's consternation that he couldn't keep his cigar lit long enough to enjoy it before it was blown out. The sky had darkened considerably in between the time that his plane was forced to land to when he and Van Helsing left the airport for the nearest crossroad.  
  
Once the duo were out on the streets, Van Helsing took a map out of one of his many pockets and tried to unfold it without having the wind blow it away.  
  
"Let's see, the nearest crossroad from here...Dammit!!" he groaned as the wind caught at the thin paper and took it for a ride.  
  
"Don't worry about it, Gabe. I've been to Dublin before. The nearest crossroad from here is this way," the beast replied and started walking off with a silent Van Helsing close behind him.  
  
When they reached it neither of them saw anyone except for what appeared to be about three homeless men slumped on the ground. Van Helsing didn't see any fairies, not that he would now what shape they would take, the bartender back in the airport proved that. It wasn't until they were almost on top of the men that they both realized that the ones whom they thought bums were wearing such finery as to make them anything but homeless and the smeared blood barely hid the burns that were raked over their skins. The blood mixed with the dirt and filth of the streets hid the quality of the fabric; and the burns appeared to hurt so much that it seemed easier to lay still than actually move anywhere. Out of the three of them, only one seemed to still be alive.  
  
Van Helsing looked to Hellboy, and then back to the beaten figures on the ground, and then back again. Hellboy nodded, and then went back to trying to light his cigar. Gabriel stepped up to them, then knelt down over the one survivor. His breaths were ragged, and there was a faint sizzling sound from the wounds, as though something in them still burned.  
  
"What happened?" He asked. It was not a shout. It was not a threat. His voice was calm; faeries may have been new to him, but when one hunts monsters the sight of a man or beast on the verge of death was all too common. "Where is the boy?"  
  
The faerie man's eyes focused on him with some effort. "So ye're the one they sent?" He asked, then stopped, taking several breaths before continuing. "Pity ye didn't get here a bit sooner." He smiled, and the teeth were misshapen and crooked. Van Helsing blinked, and then, as if for the first time, noticed the face of the man. Had his ears always been so comically big? Had he always had those tiny eyes?  
  
The fairy didn't seem to notice. "Sorry we don't have the little one for ye." He said. "Ye just missed him."  
  
"Where did he go?" Asked Gabriel. The man did not answer. "Where?!" He said, his voice rising. A couple yards away, Hellboy gave up on his cigar, tossed it to the ground, and began to walk over.  
  
"He can't hear ye, lad." Another voice called, over the wind and from above. Hellboy and Gabriel looked up to see another fair man, perched and leering from the top of a lightpost. "An' even if he did, it'd be little good he'd do for you." He looked down on the bodies. "It's a sad thing to be king of a kingdom, and nothing to be done for its shrinking."  
  
"Shrinking?" Gabriel muttered to himself.  
  
"The Fair Folk are dying out, Gabe. Plain and simple," Hellboy explained. "I think because of their immortality, they can never have any children of their own; so there's no replacing any fairy that gets up and is killed for whatever reason. It's one of the reasons why they take human babies. They like to be able to at least have the experience of rising children."  
  
"How sad and yet pathetic at the same time."  
  
"I couldn't agree more."  
  
"'ey." Said the king. "Vanishin or not, we have our pride." He stood up straight, and did his best to look like a king of some import, not a three- and-a-half-foot little ruler of a smaller domain. "And a blow t' that pride demands another in return." He grinned again. "An' so I'll be telling you a bit more about where your little boy has gone, Gabriel."  
  
"It's an ugly road ye'll be taking." He said. "And ye'll be seeing more than a bit of what's come before, both of ye." He said.  
  
Above them, lightning lit up the sky and seconds later thunder announced the storm's presence to the cowering landlocked creatures below.  
  
"If I were you boys," the faerie king said, "I'd be looking for a better place to spend yer time." He looked up at the clouds, and all the sun could do behind them was make them look like sheets of lead, or iron. "This storm'll be bringing a bit more than drizzle this way, y'know."  
  
Hellboy felt something across his cheek, cold and sharp like a knife. He slapped his hand to his face and pulled it away, expecting to see blood. But only his fingers made the raindrop seem red.  
  
The king nodded. "There'll be plenty more of those." He said, and from somewhere—a pocket, maybe? Did he even have pockets? —he produced an umbrella. "As it's looking like ye're grounded," he said, "I'd suggest ye take cover, the both of ye." He opened the umbrella, and held it high. "Or maybe take it into yer heads to do somethin' about it." He added as his feet lifted from the lightpost and he drifted upwind. "Ye'll have time enough for that, even after ye find the boy."  
  
And with that, he drifted into the sky and vanished. Gabriel stood there, dumbfounded, and looked back to Hellboy. "Is he always like that?" He asked.  
  
"Pretty much." Said Hellboy, and turned to walk further down the street, wondering if he could call a taxi.  
  
Van Helsing followed for a moment, and then paused. II never told him my name./I he thought to himself, spinning to look back. But the post was all that was there; even the bodies, vagrant or fairy, were gone. He sighed, shook his head, and marched on.  
  
Eventually they came to a bar. There was no hesitation as they walked right in and headed straight to the bar. After ordering something warm and very alcoholic, depression and feelings of failure took over they joined the rest of the patrons in bemoaning and wailing at the unfairness of the universe.  
  
But at least in here Hellboy was finally able to light his cigar and be able to enjoy its pleasant flavor. He leisurely released a great puff of smoke and saw the headline of the day's paper out of the corner of his eye. What he read startled him enough to make him cough as he grabbed the paper.  
  
"Hellboy, what is it?" Gabriel asked in surprise and small concern. Hellboy was fully capable of taking care of himself, but what could have caused him to nearly choke on his own cigar smoke?  
  
"Gabe, we've got trouble."  
  
"What?"  
  
"Listen to this: 'Kidnapping Leads to Murder...'"  
  
"'...Authorities Still Have No Suspects.' According to the article, this is about the fourth time that this has happened. And the reporter suspects that all of these are related. It goes on to assume that this 'ring' of children kidnappers may have taken more but none of them have been muddled by murdering any adult that was trying to prevent the kidnapping from taken place until recently. Our sources say that the ones who were murder were done so in a very grisly manner to suggest that the undead might have been involved," Walter concluded as he set the newspaper on the table between himself and his employer.  
  
Sir Integra Wingates Hellsing picked up the paper and scanned the article that Walter had shown her. It was indeed everything that he said it was. Her face took on a thoughtful expression as she lowered the paper and pulled on her cigar. This was very disturbing. Approximately six children, possibly more, were taken from their homes and nothing else was heard about them. There have been no ransom demands and no bodies have been found. Whatever the kidnapper wanted with the children, it had to be a vile thing. And the manner in which the deaths occurred did sound like the Hellsing Organization was needed.  
  
"Walter," she said.  
  
"Yes, Sir Integra?"  
  
"Since we have no clear idea who or what is responsible for this debacle, go ahead and send some of our agents to Ireland to solve the problem. They are also to try to rescue as many of the children as possible and return them to their parents."  
  
"Certainly, Sir Integra," Walter responded.  
  
"Master," a dark, almost seductive voice greeted from the shadows of her cell. Integra sighed and leaned back in her chair.  
  
"What do you want, Alucard?"  
  
The vampire lord emerged from the wall behind Walter and stood behind the living mortal. If Walter didn't know Alucard for as long as he had, he might have been intimidated by the undead's dark, looming presence. Alucard had a flair for that.  
  
"Master," Alucard said, "things have been too dull and boring of late. Please allow me to find some amusement by sending the police girl and me to Ireland. You know that I can do anything better than your human field agents."  
  
Integra took and released another drag of her cigar as she regarded the most valuable and dangerous weapon of the Hellsing Organization. She was half tempted to send the vampires there, but she was reluctant to do so. Because of her imprisonment in the Tower, it might make controlling Alucard harder.  
  
"No."  
  
"But, Miss Hellsing, you know that any humans that you send on this mission will probably end up dying anyway; simpletons that they are. Why not have the ones that already dead go instead?"  
  
"Are you really that bored, Alucard?"  
  
"There haven't been any serious incidents of undead rising since that episode at the church about two months ago, Sir Integra," Walter confirmed.  
  
She sighed, "Very well. You and the police girl may go." Alucard look almost exuberant at the news. "But only on one condition. Walter, I want you to go with them. You are one of my most trusted people. If nothing else, maybe you can keep a rein on Alucard."  
  
The two men looked at each other and grinned. They were well enough acquainted with each other to know that there shouldn't be any problem with working with each other.  
  
"Well, Angel of Death, looks like we'll be working together again," Alucard said smiling and revealing his vampire fangs.  
  
"Indeed. It does. This should be an interesting venture," Walter concurred.  
  
The two men left Integra wondering if sending the vampires was a good idea. Damn Alucard! The monster was right, but sending Walter will have to compensate any negative effects this might have. He was her most experience agent; experience meaning that he survived whatever mission he was sent on. And Alucard seemed to have at least a smidge of respect for the man, which was a hard thing to get from the vampire. She just had to hope that things turned out all right. 


	3. Arms of Church and State

It was dark, reflected Paladin Anderson as he walked into the room. The streetlights were dim, and he stood in a pool of light as he surveyed his surroundings. It was still, quiet, almost peaceful. But he was a predator, a wolf for the Lord, and any wild animal knows enough to be on guard, even in absolute silence. Especially in absolute silence.  
  
The first ghoul dragged its feet behind him, and that sound caught his ears. He spun, reaching into his jacket and hurling a knife as thick as his forearm; it dropped, and he reached for more. The silence and peace was gone now, replaced by the beating of his heart in his ears, and an icy thrill of adrenaline he knew his superiors didn't wholly approve of.  
  
A goblin leapt forth from the roof, claws extended to gouge eyes and rip out hearts. Three knives went to it, and he reached into his clothes again grabbing instead for the scriptures.  
  
When he had first been shown this technique, it had seemed to him like the unfurling of an angel's wings, the hand-scribed vellum flying around, to be fixed by those same blessed knives that he wielded today. Something of the wonder had gone out as he had learned it, but he still saw it as his own personal miracle, much as the regeneration God and the Church had blessed him with.  
  
The figures around him slowed as the wards went up, discomfited by his evident proof of the Lord's judgment at hand. He was prepared to exorcise these demons from the Earth today, if not by faith than certainly by craft. He heard shrieks from them, and there was a thud he recognized as one of the wards catching a ghoul on its way to the wall. He smiled, and adjusted his glasses.  
  
They had surrounded him. Their hands reached out, and their faces, in this light, could almost be mistaken for having once been human. Anderson changed his grip, his grin widening and becoming almost feral, and with one hand brought the edge across all of them in a wide, downward slash. A spray of dust went up, and as he dipped into the crouch, he shielded his eyes.  
  
There was movement, more of it from behind him. He didn't even turn this time, and a knife flew behind him with a flick of the wrist. There was a satisfying rip as he hit his target...and then a loud, disapproving buzz.  
  
The lights went up as he stood, the city revealed as a prop. The goblin dummy, looking almost ridiculous in daylight after years of use, abuse, and repair, lay prostrate, and the ghouls were revealed for puppets in pools of playground sand. And then there was the target he had hit seconds ago. It was the oldest one they had, faded and worn, seeming for all the world like a scarecrow dressed as a friar, with hair yellow like the straw that filed it.  
  
On the positive side, Anderson decided, he had caught him in the heart. Death would be quick, and the fellow would certainly pass judgment before Saint Peter. The sin would be his, and he could yet atone.  
  
[Do you see what you have done?] Asked the head monk in flawless Latin. [Worse than just an innocent, Paladin.]  
  
[It is a mercy to him, Father.] said Anderson. [With all these ghouls around, I would fear for his soul. Better I send him to God's judgment than a single bite damn him.]  
  
His superior sighed. Anderson knew they would let this go. As much as he disliked it sometimes, acting on behalf of God's Wrath let him get away with things like making these mistakes in practice, as well as in real life.  
  
[It is just as well.] Said the monk. [Iscariot has orders for you.] He winced at the eager gleam in the Paladin's eye, and handed him a folder. [And they even send you back home.] He added.  
  
Anderson flipped through. [The big red beast, is it?] He asked. He knew that silhouette in the airport security cameras. [I thought he was off limits by treaty with the Americans.]  
  
[And those St. George people.] The monk added. [But I hear he is not working for them anymore. Still, he is a celebrity, and it would make an enemy of the public if he died. Anyway, you are not looking at the right person.]  
  
Anderson seemed confused for a moment, scanning the photograph. The big oaf took up so much of the picture, talking to that fellow—Ah. His grin twisted, and he looked at the monk who had handed it to him.  
  
[I take it you know the history of this organization?] He said. [And you know the significance of that man?]  
  
[I do.] He said. [Does the old man know?] He added, curiously.  
  
[No.] Said the monk, and his face was stony, unapologetic. [His mercy outweighs his conviction, sometimes, and perhaps the left hand of God may need a firmer guide back to us than he would be willing to provide.]  
  
[Good.] Said Anderson, looking up from the photograph and down to the monk. [When does my plane leave?]  
  
Seras checked her ammunition for about the tenth time before leaning back against the boat hull and sighed. The young vampire wasn't too particularly fond of this new assignment, but it wasn't as if there was another choice. Several children in Ireland had been kidnapped and there was apparently evidence that ghouls and maybe vampires were involved. And Sir Integra had given orders to investigate the matter and eliminate the source of the problem. Even from prison in the Tower of London, Lady Hellsing still managed the operations of the Hellsing Organization.  
  
Either way, it did provide her master with something to keep him occupied. Seras discovered how frightening Alucard could be when he was bored. He didn't actually do anything really; but what he suggested was bad enough. If even managed to pull off half of the things that he said...Seras shivered at the thought. She was just glad that something came up for him to do. Even if it did take them to Ireland.  
  
The vampire suppressed a groan. Being in Ireland put within the realm of the Vatican and, more importantly, the Iscariot Organization. Which meant that Paladin Anderson could make an appearance. Her fingers unconsciously headed towards the faint scar on her neck were his blade on through almost a year ago.  
  
"Are you all right, police girl?" A voice said from above her. She looked up and saw Walter standing over her with his concerned expression on his face.  
  
Seras managed a slight smile, "Not too badly, Walter, I suppose."  
  
"Thinking about Paladin Anderson?"  
  
She gulped and nodded. Her apprehension must have been clear for everyone to see.  
  
Walter chuckled and sat down beside her. "Well, I believe that I can understand your feelings, Miss Victoria. There are some things out there that I would rather never have to face. Let me tell you about one that is scarier than Anderson."  
  
"I doubt that there could be anyone scarier than Anderson, with the exception of my master," she responded doubtfully.  
  
"Nevertheless, let me try. Let me assure you, this man would never make Alucard hesitate. I first met the man about forty years ago. Back when I was much younger than I am now. At the time, it was Sir Integra's grandfather who was in charge of Hellsing. Also, your master was under our control. But at the time, it was getting too expensive to keep Alucard around. We didn't have the medical technology that we have now to sustain a vampire without drawing suspicions. Eventually it was decided that he had to be destroyed. The problem was getting someone with similar powers that would have less expensive upkeep."  
  
"Wha-what was decided?"  
  
"In America, there was a chap that seemed to fit our requirements. He was under the control of the government. But they were willing to lend him out if the occasion arose. When Alucard found out that he was going to be replaced and executed...well, you and I can both imagine what his reaction would have been. He started to go on a rampage, determined to maintain his unlife. Sir Intega's grandfather was fatally wounded in the assault and we barely were able to keep Alucard from wreaking havoc on England. Fortunately for us, Hellboy arrived and subdued Alucard."  
  
"H-Hellboy? Are you talking about the same bloke that I've been reading about in the papers? He looks like a demon!" Seras cried.  
  
Walter nodded, "I'm glad that you're in touch our current news. And yes, I'm talking about the same man...if that is what he really is. He ages very well I understand. He was dead set against sealing Alucard away at the time. He had seen a lot of what your master is capable of doing and argued for destroying Alucard. But others at the Organization thought differently and sealed Alucard away in the lower levels of the Hellsing Manor until Sir Integra released him."  
  
"Whoa. I had no idea."  
  
"Indeed, at the time, neither did I," a sultry voice commented form the shadows. Seras showed no surprise as Alucard emerged from the shadows. "At our first meeting, I sourly underestimated who or what he is. I can hardly wait to fight him again," he said in a slightly more sensual tone.  
  
"I doubt that it will ever come to that, Alucard. You're both fighting on the same side now. Circumstances will certainly have to extreme and strange for the two of you to become opponents again," Walter said as he stood. "I'll go talk to our captain and see how much longer it will be until we land."  
  
"Master," Seras asked as Walter left, "Was that Hellboy really worse than Anderson?"  
  
Alucard laughed, his fangs flashing bone-white. "He was stronger than Incognito." He admitted. "Or at least more resourceful."  
  
Seras blanched, and the color in her face drained. "Well, at least the worst thing you've fought is on the other side of the pond, right?" She laughed nervously. There were faint scars, still fading, where Incognito's power had torn into her.  
  
"Perhaps. But there are stronger things than Hellboy in the world. I simply cannot expect I could get another fight from who I really want."  
  
Seras was silent, unsure she wanted to know more. Alucard continued anyway. "He was before any of this." He said. "He precedes your terrifying Vatican puppet in more ways than one." He turned his head to look out the window. "Where are you, I wonder?" He mused out loud. "I would love for you to allow me a rematch, Left Hand of God." 


End file.
